


The best-laid plans

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: IT Fanfics [7]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 05:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12675018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: “You are convenient,” It said, eventually. “The die had been cast and the odds were not good for me. The Other had ensured that you would succeed, eventually, but now your friends have been deprived of the ability to kill me.”Bill opened his mouth to ask about this ‘Other’, but then decided against it; he wasn’t likely to understand even if It was willing to indulge his curiosity. “We still could k-kill you, y-you know,” said Bill instead. “One t-toe out of l-line, and you’re g-gone.”“That would spell the end of you as well, Little Buddy.”It has a plan, but there are some complications even It can't prepare for.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So I'm breaking this fic up into two parts since it's pretty long and I need time to edit the rest of it. Hope you guys enjoy it!

“I k-know it s-sucks, but t-this is the o-only way we can pre-p-ph-pare for the ritual,” announced Bill, his gaze sweeping over the semi-circle of his friends. Everyone was carrying a piece of equipment: wood, nails, glue, a shovel, or a hammer, and they all looked prepared to do whatever Bill asked. He gestured to the square hole sitting to their left before he continued. “M-Mike already dug the h-hole for u-us, so we j-just have to b-build the box and s-set up a fire.”

“Are you sure we couldn’t just sit in the dirt and cover it with some tarp?” asked Richie for the umpteenth time, regarding their supply of wood with trepidation.

Mike answered before Bill could. “We _have_ to make the smoke box,” he insisted. “That was how it was done in my vision.”

“If we d-don’t do it the p-p-proper way, we’ll have been b-b-breathing in s-smoke for n-nothing,” said Bill.

“How come he told you about all of this and none of us?” asked Eddie, reproachful. “This is going to wreak havoc on my asthma,” he added in a mutter.

“I told him first because he’s the one who’s going to perform the ritual,” said Mike. “I needed to know he was on board.”

Beverly’s brows knitted and she curled her hands in the lap of her sundress. “Shouldn’t we do it together? It’ll be safer that way.”

“Strength in numbers and all that,” agreed Ben.

“D-doesn’t work l-like t-that,” said Bill. “It _h-has_ to be m-me.”

“But what if something goes wrong?” Beverly said weakly. He understood her concern; she was the only one who had viewed the world hidden in its Deadlights and she knew first-hand how difficult it was to navigate, nigh impossible if one didn’t enter it under the right circumstances. 

“I’ll b-be okay,” Bill promised her, and he hoped it would be a promise he could keep. “M-Mike’s told me e-e-everything I n-need to do.”

“Then why’re we bothering with the box?” asked Ben. Bill was growing impatient, but he couldn’t blame Ben for not thrilling at the prospect of sitting in a box full of smoke.

“It’s necessary setup,” explained Mike. “It’s like… the terms and conditions, I suppose. We have to prepare how we initiate the Ritual of Chüd.”

“And this is the only way to do it?” asked Eddie miserably.

“Yeah,” said Mike, sounding apologetic. “I’d prefer all of us to be in the box, but if you want to opt out, you can. I won’t force you.”

Eddie shook his head. “I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure, Eds?” asked Richie. “You’ve been whining about this since we got here.”

Eddie shot him a glare. “So have you,” he snapped. “Not wanting to do it doesn’t mean I won’t.” His expression softened when he turned to Bill. “I don’t want to be the reason this goes bad. Bill needs all the support he can get.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” said Bill with a smile. Eddie returned it in a nervous stretch of lips.

That concluded the conversation. They got to work on building their smoke box, creating a strong foundation with Ben’s guidance and nailing the planks of wood they’d bought from a nearby depot to its outside. They ended up needing to widen the hole before they could fit the box inside, but none of them minded the extra work; they’d already been toiling for several hours, so they were too tired to fuss over a few extra minutes.

Any kids living nearby would be able to play in it once they were finished. It was nice, big, and sturdy, and close enough to the surface to be visible through the dirt, so they wouldn’t have to worry about a cave in or someone inadvertently breaking the roof (though that would take a considerable amount of pressure). Perhaps after It had been dealt with, Bill would put up a sign. Something like ‘there’s a clubhouse here for anyone that wants to use it’. He would’ve been thrilled had someone made something like this for him as a kid.

When the clubhouse was complete, they sat in the grass, sweaty and panting and covered in dirt, and started on the next phase of their plan: gathering sticks and stones for the fire.

“Jesus,” whispered Richie, his head of messy curls dropping back. He bared his neck to the sun and made no attempt to assist in gathering kindling. “I think I pulled like, three muscles lifting that thing into there. We should’ve built it _in_ the hole.”

“That would’ve been even harder,” said Ben.

“Stop b-being such a p-pansy,” said Bill, giving Richie a gentle nudge with his elbow. Richie attempted to elbow him back, but was apparently lacking the strength to do so. He wiped a sweaty palm over Bill’s face instead, drawing forth a squawk of disgust.

“Richie!” he cried, moving to do the same back. They ended up tussling in the grass for all of a minute before both of them lost the strength and will to continue. They lay with their legs and arms tangled, laughing quietly while they struggled to recover their strength.

The ritual preparations didn’t begin until noon, after they had eaten some ice cream and guzzled down some soda from a nearby Wendy’s. Mike had insisted they eat and drink first, not wanting any of them to be dehydrated or hungry before they began. It would increase their chances of success, he told them.

“So, success isn’t guaranteed?” asked Ben while he was piling their sticks inside a small circle of rocks.

They were all sitting in the box, now, squinting through the dark at each other.

“Unfortunately, no,” said Mike. He lit a match and hovered it over their growing pile of sticks. They’d added a few crumpled-up tissues to make sure the flames took. “If you need to leave, you’d better do it before we start hallucinating, or you’ll throw off the whole ritual.”

“G-got it,” said Bill. Not that he had any choice in the matter. He couldn’t leave or he wouldn’t be able to join It in the ‘macroverse’ (apparently that was what it was called, though Mike said he couldn’t remember who or what had told him that). Whatever happened, he’d just have to power through.

The Losers gave a chorus of affirming mumbles and grunts.

Mike dropped the match onto the sticks and the ritual began.

Steadily, while they took turns smothering the flames with the flat of a rock, smoke began to fill the box. It was hot and choking; it stung their eyes and filled their nostrils, dried their lips and burned its way down their throats. Eddie’s eyes were already streaming and Ben looked about ready to vomit. Bill had to take slow, measured breaths through his nose to stave off light-headedness.

Unsurprisingly, Eddie was first to abscond, throwing open the hatch and heaving himself out to wheeze upon the grass. Beverly followed shortly after, choking out reassurances to a moaning Eddie as she joined him in the clear mid-day air. The hatch closed after them.

Ben made to stand – but then plopped himself back down, wiping sweat out of his beard and groaning past clenched teeth. His entire face had gone bright pink. There were so many red veins in his sclera’s that one could barely see the white. Before Bill could examine him further, his pinched visage faded from Bill’s sight and he saw instead a vast sheet of white, shimmering and undulating like the surface of a pond, and there was something moving in the waves. Grey somethings. He couldn’t make out what they were, exactly, but they were soothing to watch.

His light-headedness had turned into drowsiness. His eyelids drooped, though he forced himself to continue peering into the great nothing before him. Faintly, he could hear the others breathing, low and laboured. It was the only indication he was given that they were still with him. His other sensory faculties had been submerged in the white and he was too comfortable and at ease to try and break out.

This was what was meant to happen. The white was where they were supposed to be. And while he couldn’t see Mike, Ben, or Richie, he knew they were there, peering into it alongside him.

When the white spoke, he didn’t hear a voice. Rather, he _felt_ what it wanted Bill to say, and Bill obliged.

“We want to do the ritual,” he slurred, and it was odd, speaking to nothing but a feeling, but it wasn’t odd in the way that made one self-conscious; it was odd because this form of communication didn’t come naturally to a human; it required a biology humans didn’t possess, and it sapped Bill’s body of every ounce of energy he had to accommodate it.

Its response whispered over the surface of his brain. He’d read somewhere that brains didn’t have pain receptors; some surgeries could be performed on it while the patient was awake, but he could certainly feel something inside his skull now, pawing at the contents of his grey matter and grazing along his synapses. He took a deep, calming breath before he continued.

“The Ritual of Chüd,” he said, trying for a firmer voice. His throat was raw enough that it didn’t come out as smoothly as he would have liked. “I… I want…”

“You’re almost there,” he heard Mike say.

“You’re doing great, Big Bill,” added Richie.

Ben merely moaned.

“I want… I want to set up the initiation process,” he continued, grateful for his friends’ support. “We’re going to face It, the one who lives in the sewers of Derry. We want to kill It.”

The pawing delved deeper, and it wasn’t a bad feeling despite the distant recognition that this was a violation of his privacy.

He opened his mouth to proposed an initiation process – something like ‘meet It in the macroverse and grasp It by the tongue’  – and it was at that moment that he heard a retching sound and was pulled violently from the white. It clawed at his vision, grappled at his brain, but it was receding, fading, and Mike was yelling, “Quick, tell them how you want to do it! Tell them or they’ll decide for you!”, and Ben was groaning and hunched over his knees, and Richie was blinking blearily around at them.

“Yeah,” slurred Richie, laughing in his disorientation. “Don’t want to have to end up having to, I dunno, fuck It or something,” he said.

Bill felt a violent jolt through his body. By the looks on the faces of his friends, they’d felt the same thing.

The white blinked out of sight.

“Richie,” said Mike, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please tell me I misheard what you just said.”

Richie was staring at Bill, wide-eyed. Bill stared back, equally as stunned. “Oh, Christ,” Richie groaned. “Fuck me.”

“Fuck _m-me_ , actually,” Bill corrected him in a whisper, without thinking.

Mike let out one long, horrified breath and pushed open the hatch. The smoke went barrelling out into the sky. Eddie’s and Beverly’s heads popped into view once it had dissipated and Bill stomped out the fire with the sole of his sneaker. It gave him something other than Richie’s neck to break.

“Is everyone alright?” asked Beverly, looking between each of their ashen faces.

They all crawled out of the box, taking in lungfuls of fresh air and sprawling over the grass. Eddie came to sit at Bill’s side and picked a twig out of his pantleg.

“Richie just made the initiation process fucking It,” said Ben upon regaining his breath.

Eddie started to titter, and stopped when no one joined in. “Are you- you can’t be serious,” said Eddie. “You’re playing a joke, right?”

“No,” said Bill, utterly miserable. “Richie just t-told some o-otherworldly being I’m g-g-gonna f-fuck It in o-order to b-beat it.” He grabbed a handful of dirt and grass and threw it at Richie, who made no attempt to shield himself. He sat there and took it, which Bill got a vindictive pleasure out of, because Richie very much deserved to be covered in dirt and grass.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t think-!” Richie began.

“Yeah, you often don’t,” interrupted Beverly.

“We have to do it again,” said Richie, scrambling across the grass and picking up twigs as he went, retrieving kindling for a new fire. “We’ll set a new process, something less, you know… fucking disgusting.”

“We can’t,” said Mike, his face buried in his palms. “You can only do that once.”

“We’ll j-just beat it t-to death, then,” suggested Bill. That had worked well enough the last time they’d fought It. “We’ll grab s-some stakes and k-kick it’s a-ass. S-shouldn’t be h-hard, since we m-man-a-aged it as k-kids.”

“It won’t work.” Mike was still speaking into his hands. “This is the only way to kill it.”

“But l-last time-!”

“Last time,” said Mike. “We only _weakened_ It. It wouldn’t have died permanently regardless of how badly we hurt It, because It doesn’t only live here. We need to beat it on both battlefields.”

“Oh my god,” whispered Eddie. “So Bill _has_ to have sex with It if we want to kill It for good?”

Mike was silent for a moment, and then he said, very quietly, “Yes.”

* * *

There were several long, heated discussions about what exactly they should do before they retired to their rooms that night. They’d eventually settled upon attempting the smoke box again the following day despite Mike telling them, repeatedly, that it wouldn’t work. He was right, of course; they went out the following day and sat in the box for a good thirty minutes, and nothing happened. They tried once more, at Richie’s insistence, and that didn’t work either. By the end of the day, they were red-eyed and sore and dragged themselves up the sloping hills leading out the barrens and to a nearby air conditioned coffee shop to rest.

As unpleasant as the idea was, Bill had determined after hours of deliberation that he could deal with one round of sex with an interdimensional being, regardless of how repellent that interdimensional being was. There were worst things he could have been asked to do: hurt his friends, for example. As far as unpleasant experiences went, it wasn’t the worst he could have been saddled with.

It was just wham, bam, thank you ma’am, right? Then he could bring the Losers into the tunnels, face it in the macroverse, and kill It. He’d probably forget the sex had ever happened, after a while, just like he had forgotten everything else about Derry upon leaving as a child.

These weren’t going to be easy terms to fulfil, however, and it wasn’t because Bill wasn’t willing to sacrifice his dignity for the greater good. It was getting It to agree to sex with Bill that was going to be the hard part. He was the only Loser it had yet to visit, to terrorize; it was probably afraid of him (and he’d given it a pretty good reason to be, thought Bill smugly), which meant Bill would have to seek It out instead of It coming to him. Assuming It did let him find It, he had to be ready to proposition It with sex, and, well… it was easy to _think_ about doing something humiliating, but much harder to compel yourself to actually do it in the moment.

Mike and Ben spent a full day pouring over every history book on Derry that had ever been written. By the evening, they still had no alternatives to suggest. They’d uncovered a few interesting titbits about the town, and Ben had told him one of the bizarre ones in an effort to lift his spirits, but that was all the benefit their reading offered. There seemed to be not a thing they could do to change the prerequisite for a fight. Either Bill fucked It, or they forfeited. It was like the worst game of Gay Chicken Bill had ever played.

“So, uh,” said Richie stupidly, catching Bill on his way to his hotel room. “You’re going to go through with it, right?”

“Of c-course I am.” There was little Bill wouldn’t have done to save the residents of Derry from further heartbreak.

“In that case, I should tell you that it’s probably a guy,” said Richie, sounding incredibly awkward. “I mean, it looks like one, right? So it might have guy junk, and gay sex is, uh… different from straight sex.”

“You d-don’t say,” said Bill dryly, rolling his eyes.

Richie cheeks turned pink. “Have you ever had sex with a guy, Bill? Like, you know... ridden the flagstick, so to speak?” Bill cast him an odd look, to which he said, “I promise it’s important.”

“No,” he said, bemused. Not that he hadn’t been attracted to guys before; he had just been _more_ attracted to women, and he hadn’t exactly jumped at the opportunity to sit on a dick the few times he’d gone out with men. Unfortunately, his taste skewered toward big, burly men with an authoritative air – people a little like his father, admittedly – and anal was about all they’d wanted to do when they reached his bed, which he had refused each time it was proposed.

He paused, and then added, a little softly and awkwardly, “T-there has been oral, if that c-counts.” That was the one thing he’d always sought to do while bedding a man. Not only was he fantastic at it, but he _loved_ the praise and dirty talk it would elicit. That shit was _hot_.

Richie didn’t appear at all surprised by his disclosure. They’d made out a few times in high school and Bill moving on to something hotter, heavier and more explicit probably seemed a natural progression to him.

“Not really what I had in mind,” said Richie. He made a vague gesture with his hands. “I can, you know…”

Bill stared at him. “I’m n-not going to m-make assumptions in c-case I’m wrong a-about what you’re trying t-to suggest.”

“I can fuck you,” Richie blurted out. “You know, to prepare you for- whatever, if you ever manage to get to It.”

Bill laughed, a little pink-faced. “A-almost sounds l-like you’ve been w-w-wanting to do that for a wuh-w-while,” he said teasingly, while knowing full well that was the case. Richie had been pretty explicit about what he’d wanted to do to Bill when they’d gotten drunk at prom twenty-one years prior and made out in his car, and Bill had been intoxicated enough to be up for an attempt. Naturally, they hadn’t gotten far into that endeavour before both of them had fallen asleep, and neither of them had wanted to do much of anything after waking up with a hangover.

“Well?”

Bill reached for his rooms doorknob. “We d-don’t even know i-if I’m going to b-b-be able to con-veh-v-vince It yet.”

“Yeah, but…” Richie was struggling to come up with a reasonable excuse. While he was fumbling, Bill pushed open his door and stretched out an arm in invitation.

Might as well. He did like Richie, and he recalled that Richie’d had an impressive girth, even as a teenager, and he’d been having some lewd thoughts about where exactly Richie could put that girth the moment he’d proposed sex.

He sucked it first for almost thirty minutes, because it had been a long time since he’d had the opportunity to put a cock in his mouth and he had wanted to, and then lay down on the bed with his face tucked into his forearms and let Richie apply a generous amount of oil to his entrance. When Richie slowly slid inside, it was uncomfortable, bordering on painful. He gripped at the bedsheets and groaned, his bare shoulders developing a thin sheen of sweat while he struggled to adjust to the substantial intrusion. When Richie started to thrust, it was the single most painful thing Bill had ever experienced and he ended up pushing Richie off pre-maturely and lying on his side with his knees drawn up to his belly.

When Richie started to apologize, he brushed them off with a wavering smile. “It’s fine. J-just isn’t my t-thing, I guess.”

“Maybe I didn’t use enough lubrication,” Richie mumbled, plucking the small bottle he’d brought off the bedside table. He’d almost emptied it in preparing Bill.

“It’s just m-me, Richie.” Bill reached over to give Riche’s bicep a squeeze. “Don’t worry a-about it, I’ll be fine.”

He was, however, feeling pretty discouraged by the whole event when he descended into the sewer to confront It. He left the hotel at the dead of night, without telling his friends. A little dangerous, perhaps, but it was better than having them wait outside to pummel him with questions when he emerged from the pipes, or rushing in if he made too much sound. He wanted to retain _some_ dignity.

Bill knew sex with It wasn’t going to happen, anyway. He would ask and It would laugh in his face and attempt to kill him, then they’d spend another week in Derry researching ways to kill It, and Mike would eventually conclude they had to fill the pipes with cement or something.

He had to try, though. Once he did and failed it would be over with and he would finally be able to look his friends in the face without knowing they were thinking about It and him copulating. Most people knew how to school their expressions; not his friends, apparently, whose brows had been stuck in a permanent arch or frown since Richie’s blunder.

Half-way through a pipe, Bill put his torch aside and hunched down to squeeze some water out of his pant legs, which were sticking to his skin. While he was doing this, his torch inexplicably disappeared, enveloping him in darkness. He thought perhaps he’d nudged it into a crevice with his heel and started to grope at cool metal the floor of the pipe in the dark, only to grab a fistful of something soft and squishy. His first thought was a very alarmed ‘it’s a spider!’ despite the absence of tawny hairs and legs, and he wished it _had_ been a spider when the wedge of light from his torch returned and lit up a short black and white boot with a tuft of red on the toe.

“Boo,” said the clown, and Bill released Its foot and scrambled back on his hands and ass. He sought safety more out of instinct than actual fear; he’d faced enough bullying in his youth to know better than to remaining kneeling at someone’s feet, especially when those feet belonged to something that had attacked you in the past.

He ended up propelling himself out of the mouth of the pipe and falling onto cement. Not hard, mind you. The fall hadn’t been long enough for that, but the breath still stuttered out of him and he must have looked quite foolish to the approaching clown, sprawled out on the floor as he was.

It hunched over him, large hands draped over Its knees. “Heard you arranged a little something something to try and kill Me.” It grinned, a slip of saliva trailing down its chin. “What were the terms, hm? What brings you to Me alone?”

It didn’t know? He’d assumed it would with Its almost omnipresence control over the town. Perhaps the White was a place It couldn’t see into.

“Actually,” Bill started, drawing himself up onto his elbows. “I was h-hoping you could d-o something f-for m-me.” The conversation was about to get very awkward, very fast, and Bill steeled himself for the inevitable waves of shame.

It arched a hairless eyebrow. “Ohh, let me guess: you’re going to sacrifice your life for your friends. Am I right? I bet I am!”

“No, that’s n-not i-it.” Bill hesitated. When he spoke his request, it was in something of a rush, “I w-want you to fuh-f-fuck me.”

It stared at him in complete silence.

Bill swallowed and pushed on. “Do you… c-can you even do that?” his gaze dropped briefly to Its groin. The flashlight was still pointed at Its face, allowing for little examination of what it was hiding between Its legs.

“Yes,” It said slowly, still smiling and staring.

“Oh.” Bill was having a hard time levelling his gaze with its face. This was terribly embarrassing. “S-so will you, uh…”

“Why should I?” It asked, tossing the torch aside. It skittered into a corner and Its hands descended to Bill’s shirt, heaving him up off the floor. “With a pathetic little human like you – why would I want to?”

It wasn’t even asking why Bill would want _It_ , the vain bastard.

He instinctively wrapped his hands around Its wrists. “I d-dunno,” he stammered. “Guess I th-t-thought you’d j-jump at the o-o-opportunity to d-dominate the guy that k-kicked your ass a-as a kid.”

It growled low in Its throat. There was just enough of Its face visible for Bill to see the contemplation in Its gaze. “Dominate you,” It said slowly, like it was getting a taste for the words and seemed to enjoy them. “Dominate… you…”

“Y-yeah.” He couldn’t believe himself, but _fuck_ , the guttural way It was speaking was arousing him. He’d often selected potential beaus for the authoritative quality in their voice and It certainly had that down pat right now.

It lowered Bill back onto his feet. As a child, It had seemed impossibly tall, towering over all the Losers with ease. Though he was an adult now and considerably taller than he had been at twelve, that hadn’t changed. It _still_ appeared impossibly tall, as though It had grown a foot since he’d last seen It. Maybe It had, though ‘grown’ probably wasn’t the right word, because that implied It hadn’t changed its appearance _deliberately_ to better intimidate Its quarry.

It caught his face in a white-gloved hand and turned it from side to side, examine every inch of him. “A-alternatively, you c-could give me a two s-s-second head start to ruh-r-run,” Bill mumbled.

It chuckled and stroked Its thumb along his bottom lip. “Undo your trousers, Little Buddy.”

“Uh…” He dumbly groped at his belt. “Is t-that a yes?”

“Do you think I’d ask you to remove your trousers if it was a ‘no’?”

“Yeah, b-because you’re a c-creep.”

It responded to that jab by tearing his trousers right off his thighs with its claws and throwing him up against the wall with the remnants of them still hanging around his ankles. A large hand held him to the brick by the back of his neck. The other had dropped to his boxers, tugging them down to unveil the pale curve of his ass.

He hoped it did intend to fuck him and not just slit his throat while he was in a compromising position. It’d be humiliating to be found that way. He wouldn’t be alive to experience the shame, of course, but his face was burning red-hot at the thought of his friends coming upon his body with his torn trousers hanging around his ankles and his boxers bunched around his thighs.

Fortunately, It appeared to want to go through with fucking him, as something cool and slimy brushed against the inside of his thigh and roved over the underside of his half-hard cock. It was soon joined by additional cold, slimy somethings that were too numerous to count.

It leaned over him, Its breath on the shell of his ear. “Got some news for ya, Little buddy.”

“Hmf?” was all Bill offered in response. He was a little distracted by the slimy tendrils gliding over his cock.

“I know what criteria Richie chose for the ritual,” It said, and slid several of Its appendages smoothly into him, right up to the hilt.

It shouldn’t have been that easy; Richie had struggled to get in to the half-way point even after five minutes of stretching, but It met no resistance whatsoever as it jarred Its hips to his ass. The breath was driven out of him in a gasp. He fisted his hands against the brick, not because it was painful, but because it was incredibly, gloriously good, so much so that it drove every comprehensive thought from his mind and reduced him to a writhing mess. When it began to fill him further and stroke at his insides, at some lovely, sensitive part inside him that had never before been exploited, he only faintly recognized his own moans and voice saying ‘oh God’ and ‘that’s so good’. At some point he had the brilliant idea to start pushing back for it, though his attempts were as uncoordinated as the rutting of an animal.

A hand grasped his hip to steady him while It ground languidly against his ass. It didn’t seem to be out of breath at all, nor had it appeared to have broken a sweat, while Bill was already panting and slick with perspiration, his face and neck and cock bright red. 

“You’re mine, aren’t you Billy?” It spoke against his pale, straining neck, Its teeth grazing a stretched tendon. “Come on, Little Buddy. Say you’re mine.”

He tried to oblige, he really did, but all he could get out were incoherent mumbles. “I’m, hmm-mnh-“

Its thrusts slowed, but the pleasure was still blinding in its intensity. “Say it,” It demanded, and gave a punishing squeeze at the base of his cock, drawing forth a series of whimpers and a wet moan. He’d started to cry without even realizing it.

“Yuh-yes,” he managed to get out, just barely.

“Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m—” Gulping in breaths of air. Just one more word and he could come. “Yours.”

“And I,” It whispered, with an air of reluctance that was smothered in just as much arousal. “Am yours.”

It gave his cock one long stroke and he came with a shudder that wracked his entire body, spilling his seed into its palm. It used it as lubrication to get him off twice more, after which his stamina had been completely spent and he would have slid his way to the floor had Pennywise not been holding him up by his neck. It threw all inhibitions aside and proceeded to thrust into him with overwhelming vigour, wrenching what little energy Bill had left out of him, and for a moment he slipped into dark oblivion. When he came to, there was a coolness spreading in his belly and sliding down his leg and the only thing on his mind was finding somewhere, anywhere to lie down and sleep.

Luckily, It seemed to have the same desire and lowered both of them to the floor, allowing Bill to drape over Its lap. It stroked Its hand up and down the curve of his back until Bill was lulled into slumber.

He didn’t awaken in the sewer. He peeled open his eyes and found himself lying in his hotel bed, completely naked and pleasantly sore, a stickiness around his thighs. He basked in the afterglow of sex for all of a second before remembering what he had done, why he had done it, and how _horribly_ it had gone awry.

 _I know what criteria Richie chose for the ritual_ rang in his head as he threw himself out of bed and lumbered into the bathroom, taking a quick shower to wash away the gunk before towelling down and throwing on whatever clean clothes were closest. His hair was still dripping when he vacated his room. He went barrelling down the hallway, knocking on the Losers’ door as he went, pounding on them when he didn’t receive a response, and when he realized none of them were inside he ran downstairs to find out if the receptionist knew where any of them had gone.

He was stopped at the foot of the stairs by Beverly. “Bill,” she cried, her voice full of relief. “You’re okay!”

“O-of c-course I am,” he stuttered out, confused, until it dawned on him that her question was likely a preclude to her telling him the others _weren’t_. Panic seized the air from his lungs and he started to move past her, stumbling across the linoleum flooring.

“Hold up, Bill,” Beverly said, drawing him back around to face her. Her palms cupped his tense jaw. “Everyone’s okay. Don’t panic.”

“Then why wouldn’t _I_ be-?”

“It told us you went to It,” she said, and Bill knew by the tone of her voice that he was about to be scolded. “I can’t believe you went after It by yourself, Bill! You could’ve been killed!”

“Well, I w-wasn’t, and there’s more important t-things to think about rh-r-right now.” He gently slid free of her grip. “Where’s the o-others? --Did you j-just say It was _h-here_?”

“ _Is_ here,” she corrected him.

She said this without inflection, completely calm. He couldn’t believe she had managed to convey such alarming information without having a complete freak out, because this situation most definitely warranted one.

“Its here!?” he cried. Since she wasn’t panicking, he might as well do it for her. “Is e-everyone okay-? Fuck, no, of c-course they aren’t; the fucker probably a-attacked them again!” He’d already started moving, at a loss for what direction to head but moving all the same. He probably would have ended up pacing had Beverly not guided him toward an attached reading lounge. “A-are they hurt?” he asked and gnawed on the corner of his lip hard enough to break skin. “Bev, p-please, say s-something!”

“I _would_ , if you’d _let_ me speak,” she said, huffing. He quickly shut his mouth. “They’re fine, Bill. I promise they are. I’d be a lot less calm if they weren’t.”

“But if Its here…”

“It hasn’t done anything except talk to us. For two hours, actually. There was a lot of yelling in that first hour.”

“What,” said Bill, articulate as ever.

Upon walking into the reading lounge, he found his friends bundled up like sardines on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, and It sitting in the corner on a stool that Bill was sure hadn’t been there before. There were bright red balloons drifting along the ceiling of the room. Its eyes jumped to him the moment he entered, seeming to turn brighter at his arrival.

“Little Buddy!”

He surveyed friends’ hunched forms and noted with relief that none of them were injured. Not visibly, in any case. He hadn’t been there long enough to see any mental scarring it was likely to have inflicted.

“If you did a-anything to my friends,” he began, but It responded before he could finish.

“I didn’t.”

Bill looked to the Losers for confirmation. There were a few nods, a mumble of ‘I’m okay’ from Eddie, and a thin smile from Mike.

“We’re more worried about you, honestly,” said Richie. His gaze remained fixed on It as he spoke. He appeared too frightened to look away, perhaps worried It would attack if he did. “It said you, uh…”

“Mated with Me,” It finished, baring Its serrated teeth in a grin. “My Little Buddy enjoyed it, too.”

“So you’ve said,” mumbled Eddie.

Bill rubbed his cheeks and ears in hopes of dispelling the heat in them. It hadn’t been shy about telling them the details of their sordid night together, evidently. “We d-didn’t _mate_ , it was p-part of the ritual.”

It squawked high, noxious laughter that sent shivers soaring down Bill’s spine. “A ritual you will _never_ be able to perform now that we are _mated_. Our union brought an end to your little tirade.”

“It- it wouldn’t have w-worked anyway, if we h-hadn’t had sex,” said Bill, confused.

“You are unaware of the powers on your side, brat, but I do not fault you. Any of you. Your naivety is one of the few things I like about humans, other than the taste.” It leaned over Its knees, leering at Bill. “But don’t fret, Little Buddy. You and your friends are in luck.”

“Not so sure about that,” murmured Mike.

“You and your little friends are in luck,” It said again, firmer, not even sparing Mike a glance. “I will tell you what I told them: you accompany me to the sewer, and you-“ It pointed at all of them in turn. “Will no longer have to fear for the residents of Derry.”

“You’re lying,” was the first thing out of Bill’s mouth, because of course It was. It always lied. “You just want me d-down there to k-kill me, to get me o-out of the way.”

“If I wanted that, I would had done it already,” It said. “With _ease_ , and _great_ relish, while you were asleep on my lap, Little Buddy.”

Bill’s reddened skin grew a shade darker. “Y-you’re still l-lying.”

“Why would I present myself, if I were lying.” It spread Its hands and the balloons shifted restlessly above them. “How does that serve me, to put myself in dangers way?”

“It _has_ only tried to get us one on one in the past,” said Ben, albeit reluctantly.

“But… mated?” spluttered Richie. “Why would being mated suddenly make It want to stop eating kids?” He was speaking as though It wasn’t in the room, and It didn’t appear to appreciate being ignored, Its mouth pulling into a frown. 

“The children…” It licked Its lips before it continued. “Were for sustenance. Those needs are fulfilled with a mate.”

“What needs?” asked Eddie, but he didn’t sound much like he wanted to know the answer.

Its gaze flicked only briefly to Eddie. “Fearful flesh.” It gave another lick of Its lips, slower this time. “Pleasured flesh is just as _delectable_.”

“So you _are_ g-going to eat me!” said Bill.

“In a manner of speaking,” It said, and looked pointedly between Bill’s legs. Bill self-consciously folded his hands over his lap. “On a much less permanent basis,” It added.

Bill gathered that to mean It would be fucking him, a lot, and wished the idea hadn’t been so appealing.

“W-why would you ch-c-choose me?” he asked. “I k-kicked you a-ass. That d-doesn’t u-usually foster feelings of lust or w-whatever.”

“It does for My kind.”

Bill forgot his shyness long enough to throw up his hands in exasperation. “So that’s it? You m-mated with m-me because I p-pissed you off?”

“Yes.”

“That’s n-not a good a-answer.”

“Come down to the sewer and I will tell you more,” It said simply, rising from Its stool. The moment it was upright, the stool dematerialized.

“You t-think curiosity is e-enough to g-get me d-down there?”

“Yes.”

Bill pursed his lips. He didn’t want to admit how right It was about that. “I’m not g-going to r-risk my life for a-answers.”

“You will.”

“I’m s-smarter than that.”

“No, you are not,” It said with a smile that was far too wide and far too toothy. It took a step toward him all the balloons descended as though swept low by a gust of wind, and Bill saw the shadow of It peering through them, at him, before their collective rupture forced him to close his eyes and cover his ears. The others must have done the same, as he saw them tentatively cracking open their eyes once it was safe to do so.

Naturally, It had disappeared.

“Just had to make a dramatic fucking exit,” muttered Richie.

Bill took a few moments to gather his thoughts before he spoke. “I’m s-surprised you d-didn’t try to attack It.”

“Oh, we did, initially,” said Ben. “But apparently this ‘mating’ thing means hurting It, hurts you, and we didn’t want to risk that.”

Bill cast a nervous look around the room. “Is- is that true?”

“Don’t know,” said Eddie. “It might be, and… well, It hasn’t hurt you, so something has to be going on, even if it’s not that.”

Fuck, now answers were even _more_ tantalizing.

To Bill’s great frustration, he spent the remainder of the day wondering what information It was withholding. It had more to say on Its motivation for ‘mating’ with Bill, that much was certain, and Bill desperately wanted to have those answers. The only reason he didn’t go running to Neibolt house was pure stubbornness. He intended to have It wait a few days before he went, make It aware It hadn’t any control over Bill. In the meantime, he surveyed power poles for missing posters and listened in bars for whispers of loss to see if It was being honest about bringing an end to Its cycle of butchery. If it wasn’t, if he was given even the slightest hint that It was still hunting the children of Derry, he wouldn’t hesitate to gather his friends and bring them into the sewer for a final showdown.

By the third day, little of note had happened. A balloon here or there, but that was about it. No whispers of a grisly murder, no obituaries for children in the local newspaper. For the moment, it appeared to be telling the truth. It _had_ stopped. None of them could be sure this wasn’t the eye of the storm, however, so they remained on high alert, stepping into bars and nightclubs and loitering outside shops simply to listen to the daily gossip. It was painfully boring, if Bill was honest. Mostly he heard people talking about mundane things like grocery shopping and taking their kids to the park.

By the fifth day, it had become apparent to Bill that waiting for answers was more torture for him that it was for It. It had been alive for millennia; a few days of waiting would be a pittance to It.

He didn’t drop into the sewer, this time. He didn’t want to ruin the only pair of vans he’d brought by sloshing his way through filthy water. He instead entered the Neibolt house and stood in the kitchen, examining the peeling remnants of floral wallpaper while he waited, trying to figure out what flower it had once depicted. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t have to wait long before two large hands clamped down over his shoulders.

“Five days.” It did not sound happy. “You took five days.”

“And I d-didn’t come to the s-sewer,” he added, just to be annoying. He glancing over his shoulder at It. “Wh-w-what’s five days to you, anyway? A few s-seconds?”

“It’s five days,” It answered gruffly. Its palms slid down his thin arms and crossed at his chest, Its clawed fingers gliding over the thin fabric of his shirt.

Bill swallowed. It would be so easy for It to make a cavern out of his chest, tear through skin and muscle and have his insides spill messily onto the floor. “You d-didn’t give me a d-date.”

“That is true.” It drew their bodies together. Bill slotted neatly against it, so much smaller in comparison that he was engulfed by the folds of Its outfit. “But you should have come to Me sooner, Little Buddy.” It spoke against the crown of his head. “You would have had information without needing give Me something in return.”

“S-something?” Bill stammered, watching Its nails tease at the fabric of his shirt, threatening to tear straight through. He hoped It didn’t. He didn’t particularly want to have to walk home shirtless.

“Sure you can guess what,” It murmured, and Bill certainly could have, even if It hadn’t announced its intentions loud and clear by stroking his chest.

“We have to t-talk, first.” He knew if they had sex, he wouldn’t have the presence of mind to demand answers.

It growled. “It’s been five days.”

“You haven’t had s-sex in millennia, and you’re c-complaining about a f-five day wait?”

It hesitated, then withdrew Its hands with clear reluctance. Bill turned around to watch It amble over to a chair and sit down. “Sit in my lap.”

“I’d rather just sit in a-“ The other chairs disappeared as he spoke. He shot It a glare. “R-really?”

It canted Its head at him. “Sit.”

Bill folded his arms. “Give me one answer, first, then I will.”

“Fine,” It snapped unhappily. Bill relished Its frustration.

“Why did you choose me?” he asked, followed by a beat of a pause and, “I know it’s not j-just because you hate me so much you want to fuh-f-fuck me. There ha-h-has to be more to it than t-that.”

“It is indulgence,” It said. “I wish to indulge in you, at my own whim.”

“That d-doesn’t t-t-tell me anything I duh-d-don’t already know.”

It let its black-tipped fingers settle on Its thighs. “There’s more.”

“…Well?”

“You are convenient,” It said, eventually. “The die had been cast and the odds were not good for me. The Other had ensured that you would succeed, eventually, but now your friends have been deprived of the ability to kill me.”

Bill opened his mouth to ask about this ‘Other’, but then decided against it; he wasn’t likely to understand even if It was willing to indulge his curiosity. “We still could k-kill you, y-you know,” said Bill instead. “One t-toe out of l-line, and you’re g-gone.”

“That would spell the end of you as well, Little Buddy.”

Bill gave a sharp inhale. He breathed in mostly dust and ended up having a coughing fit, shoving a fist up against his open mouth in habit. “Wh-wh-what d-d-d-“ he tried to ask what It meant, but the words weren’t coming out.

It answered regardless. “Our lifeforces are connected. I die, _you_ die.” It waved a hand between them. “You die, _I_ die – for a little while, that is.”

“S-s-so,” he said, still speaking with difficulty. “N-not _entirely_ c-connected, if only y-y-you get to c-continue l-living.”

“I never said you died _permanently_ ,” said the clown, and continued before Bill could ask what it meant by that. “Now,” It said, patting Its thighs. Its next spoken word was low and demanding, sending blood pooling to Bill’s crotch, “ _Sit_.”

Bill glanced at Its lap and then back up at Its face. He wished he’d worn thicker pants. It could probably see the tent forming. “One m-more question.”

“No,” It growled, and Bill shivered. “Sit.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Bill obliged, crossing the room on stiff legs and lowering himself into Its waiting lap. It was cold. Terribly cold, but It made up for that by gliding a hand along his back and shoulders in a caress.

“Now you may ask,” It said.

Bill leaned into Its stroking. It wasn’t often that he received this sort of physical affection. Since breaking things off with Audra Phillips five years ago, he hadn’t felt up to returning to the dating scene. He’d been content, for the most part, with being alone. “If I get hurt, d-do you g-get hurt, too?” he decided to ask.

“No.”

Bill frowned. “That’s w-what you told my friends.”

“I know.”

It’d been lying, then. But it was being honest about lying, and Bill wasn’t sure what to think of that. “F-fine, okay. I’m a convenient way to flip the bird at whatever this Other is and a dec-ss-ent f-fuck.” He shrugged. “I s-still don’t understand w-why you would settle f-for this, though.” Bill had a healthy amount of self-confidence, but he knew he wasn’t exactly a great catch, visually or otherwise. Too much Jughead and not enough Archie, and he was terribly stubborn and often abrasive without meaning to be. There were plenty of qualities he possessed that most didn’t like.

Almost reluctantly, It said, “You are the only being that has bested me.” Its arm coiled around his waist, drawing him closer, its toothy maw descending to his neck. “And now that which has bested me is mine.”

“So I g-guess you c-count this as y-y-you besting me?”

“Mmm.” It lapped at the underside of his jaw, the rough flat of its tongue pressing to the thrumming pulse point hidden there. Its other hand slid up his thigh and grasped at the ample flesh. “Ruined your little ritual,” It rumbled. “And now I may feast upon you for the rest of time.”

“Y-you won’t hurt a-anyone else e-ever again, th-t-then?” he asked, turning weak and pliant beneath Its talented tongue and fingers.

“I still need to eat,” It said, which made Bill tense and start to shift. It tightened Its grip. “But not on frightened flesh, though I wouldn’t be opposed...”

“M-meaning?”

“Cattle, poultry,” It murmured, nosing the white of his throat. “Not all that different from humans, really.”

Bill scowled. “Don’t s-say that sh-s-shit while g-groping me.”

“You are delicious cattle.”

“A-asshole.”

If they continued their conversation, he didn’t remember much of it. After Its had reached his stiff cock, he was once again deprived of the ability to think and ended up coming twice in quick succession with the application of Its palm and mouth, and came a third time when It bent him over a counter and rammed into him hard enough to send rusted cutlery skittering along its dusty surface. Thank God there were no other houses nearby, because surely someone would have heard Bill’s cries.

With some effort, he managed to remain awake as It carried him back to the hotel. It appeared to have applied some sort of glamour to evade notice, as instead of a clown conveying him to his room, It was a tall man with high cheekbones and a sweep of ginger hair wearing what appeared to be one of Bill’s tuxedo’s. He wasn’t sure what to make of It having apparently looked through his wardrobe.

Half-way there, he forced It to let him walk on his own feet and leaned heavily into Its side until they had reached the entrance to the hotel. Eddie rushed up to meet them, appearing confused by the presence of the stranger.

“You, uh… made a friend?” he asked, and then he looked into Its eyes and jolted in recognition. “Is- is that-?”

“Yeah,” said Bill, sleepy and satisfied. Its mouth broke into a broad grin that had Eddie gulping and backing away. “We h-had a chat,” added Bill, stifling a yawn with a fist

Eddie regarded them both wearily. “Is everything okay?”

“He isn’t harmed,” the clown-turned-man said. Its voice was different, less high-pitched. The way It held itself, spoke, and smiled was still strange and unnerving however; It couldn’t act the part of a normal human being perfectly. “Come, Little Buddy,” It continued, pulling Bill in the direction of the stairs. “And _you_ , girly boy.”

“Girly- I’m not-“ Eddie spluttered, but started following at a distance regardless, his gaze fixed on Bill’s back. “What’d you do to him?”

“Sex made him tired.”

Eddie gasped. “What the _fuck_? Don’t tell me that!”

“You asked.”

Once in the hallway, Eddie drew a little closer, his hand resting on the handle of a swiss knife sticking out of a trouser pocket. Mike must have given it to him. He was the only one of them that had access to any sort of weaponry, being the sole Loser with a house in Derry.

“There’s been no reports of dead kids,” Bill heard Eddie say while It was lowering him into bed. It had dropped its glamour upon entering the room and now stood as a 7-something foot beast of a clown.

“I haven’t killed any.”

“You might be lying,” said Eddie.

Bill rolled onto his side to observe Eddie and Its conversation. He was proud of Eddie for his bravery. It took a lot of guts to confront your childhood tormentor.

“You might be covering them up,” Eddie continued. “I know you can do that. I know you can make the adults not notice.”

“They always noticed when I did it before,” It said wryly, Its hand lingering on Bill’s skin, gliding over his jaw and neck possessively. The way It was touching him suggested It viewed Eddie as competition, which was laughable. Eddie was a married man. He wasn’t about to go jumping into Bill’s pants. “They just forgot, after a time.”

Eddie’s lips thinned. “There’s only _one_ way we’re going to believe you.”

“And that is?”

“You’ll stay up here with us for a week.”

It sneered. “No.”

“If you don’t, we’ll—”

“You won’t do anything.” Its fingers reached his hair and stroked into It, drawing out a soft sigh. Bill buried his face into his pillow. “If you do, he dies.”

“I know, but,” Eddie began, struggling for words. “But, but… but we won’t let you have him unless you agree to our terms.”

“Don’t I get any say in this?” asked Bill, forcing himself to speak despite the enticing call of sleep. He bit the inside of his cheek to startle his brain into alertness. It was only moderately successful.

“Of course you do, Bill,” said Eddie, his voice gentle. “But if you’re going to argue against it, at least let Mike and Ben have their say first. They were the one that came up with the idea, so I’m sure they’d convey it better than me.”

“No,” said Bill, shaking his head. Eddie appeared momentarily disheartened. “I mean, you d-don’t need anyone else to speak to me. I agree with you.”

A storminess came over Its face. “I am your _mate_.”

Bill snorted. “For less than a week. S-surprisingly, great sex hasn’t d-decided to make me either like or trust you.”

Its expression darkened even further.

“Just say yes,” said Eddie, making no attempt to mask the frustration in his voice. “It’s one week. You’ll survive.”

It made a long stream of disgruntled sounds before It replied. “What would you have me do during this ‘one week’?”

“Prove you’re not a complete psychopath,” said Eddie, succinctly.

Bill could hear Its molars grinding. It stood there for a moment, twitching and growling, and then gave a jerky nod of Its head. “Fine,” It spat. It dropped itself onto Bill’s bed and wrapped Itself around Bill, coiling its long limbs around his shoulders and legs in a possessive clutch. “But we start _now_.”

Eddie’s hand finally drifted away from the weapon in his pocket. With clear reluctance, he started to back out of the room. “Come downstairs when you’re done resting. We’ll have a late lunch.”


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand, done! I hope this fulfils peoples fluffy Billwise needs!

They were lucky Mike’d had the forethought to make a lunch reservation early that morning, and even luckier that Mike had managed to find somewhere relatively quiet. After midday, there were few places near the hotel that weren’t full to the brim with patrons.

Upon arriving at the restaurant, they’d been guided to a secluded room in the back and provided with laminated menus, and had shortly thereafter fallen silent as It – back in Its glamour – picked up and examined the cutlery in Its long pale fingers. When It was done with its examination, It started picking apart a napkin that had been folded into the shape of a swan and that, too, was interesting enough for them to stare at. It didn’t appear at all bothered by their blatant interest in what It was doing.

“So, uh,” said Beverly, finally breaking the silence. She was still watching It in the corner of her eye, trying and failing to be discreet. “Has everyone decided what they want to order?”

“Honey Chicken and prawn c-crackers sounds nice,” said Bill awkwardly. He closed his menu and set it aside, reaching into his pocket for a pad and pencil. He usually kept one on hand in case he got writing inspiration while on the go. “Just write down w-what you want and I’ll get it.”

The pad went around the table. When it reached It, It skimmed the menu and wrote something down, then passed It to Bill, who It had insisted on sitting next to. As Bill rose to order their food, It rose with him and followed him to the counter without uttering a word.

He glanced down at what It had written. In neat, albeit jagged letters, It had requested a platter of seafood. Bill supposed that was as close as It could get to raw meat.

He submitted their order and dug into his back pocket for his wallet, but It slid a fifty dollar note across the counter before he could locate his debit card. A few coins were dropped into Its palm, which It tossed into a nearby charity jar.

“Where the hell’d you get money?” he asked.

“The same place I get balloons,” It replied, which told Bill exactly _nothing_.

They returned to their seats and It nicked Bill’s napkin to keep Its hands occupied. Everyone resumed watching It as It disassembled the swan by tearing off small sections and dropping them onto a growing pile.

It was most peculiar, sitting next to a monster in a human suit, knowing full well that it had eaten children and adults and had an insatiable appetite for fear, but being obligated by social convention to treat It like a normal human being.

Once finished with the napkin, It swept the mound off the side of the table and resumed fiddling with its cutlery. Bill frowned at the mess it’d created.

“We should probably call you something other than ‘It’ or ‘Pennywise’ in public, right?” said Ben, scratching at the side of his neck.

It glanced at him. “Robert Gray.”

“Where’d you c-come up with that?” asked Bill.

“Past meal that I took a liking to.” It gave a smack of Its lips, which were pale pink rather than red. “ _Delectable_ one.”

“Ah,” said Bill. He probably shouldn’t have asked. That was the sort of talk that put people off their food.

“Is that his face, too?” asked Richie. “Or do you… were you…”

“It is his face.”

“Might be weird if someone recognises you,” said Richie.

“He died in the seventeenth century,” It said, smiling in a way that was almost genial. “There is nothing left of those who remember him except dust.”

“Geeze, that’s, uh…” Richie shook his head. “Sometimes I forget how old you are.”

“I have always been here.” It lowered its knife and fork back to the table and threaded Its fingers, resting Its chin upon them. “Since the Beginning.”

“Can we talk about something else?” asked Eddie, shifting nervously in his seat. “Something that won’t give me an existential crisis?”

“You do lead very short, boring lives; you ought to be in a constant state of crisis,” It said thoughtfully, and Bill nudged It with his elbow to convey his annoyance.

“I pretty much am,” admitted Eddie, which was a remark that could be seen in the smudge of blue under his eyes and the heavy lines on his forehead.

It cackled. “Oh, I know. I can _feel_ it.”

Eddie’s face paled at that comment and Bill nudged It in the side even harder, enough that Its attention was finally drawn away from his companions. It didn’t nudge him back, though It did give his thigh a hard enough squeeze to almost send him propelling out of his chair in embarrassment.

“The fuh-f-food’s coming,” he stuttered, red-faced, and pointed to the two waiters emerging from the kitchens with plates balanced on their hands and forearms. Pennywise’s seafood platter looked large enough to feed an entire family. “Act normal,” he added, turning to It.

Instead of doing as he requested, It stole Richie’s napkin, who was sitting on Its opposite side (he’d lost the final round of ‘rock paper scissors’ they’d played to decide seating arrangements), and began to tear it into little pieces as It had the others. It only stopped when the platter was set down before It, abandoning the napkin to swallow three prawns and a mussel whole. It was rather incredible to witness. It scarcely needed to chew and didn’t seem to mind at all that there were shells on some of the things It was shovelling into its gullet.

Bill probably would have enjoyed his honey chicken more were he not so distracted with watching It eat. He was grateful they’d chosen a secluded spot, because no normal man could have chewed through the shells of oysters and swallowed whole parts of a crab. At one point, It shoved a whole half of a lemon into Its mouth, chewed, and then spat it back onto the plate with a grimace. Evidently its gluttony didn’t extend to sour foods.

“Well,” said Richie, chewing slowly on a morsel of his chicken teriyaki dish. “I think we ought to just take It to Mike’s farm, next time. It could sit in the paddock and eat a cow while we talk over lemonade or something.”

“Substitute lemonade for coffee or bourbon and you have a plan,” said Mike with a laugh.

It consumed the last pieces of seafood that remained on Its platter. “Is this offer with the cow genuine?” It asked.

“What- no,” said Mike, and he laughed again. “Those are dairy cows. I use them for milk.”

“Hmph.” It pushed the platter aside and picked up Richie’s napkin again, resuming Its task of tearing it apart. Richie had to grab himself a new one from the front counter. He brought an extra handful while he was up there and dropped them before It, sitting down to wipe his hands clean of teriyaki sauce.

Bill wished Richie hadn’t done that. Now the staff would have an even bigger mess to clean up when they left. He would have to extend his apologies before stepping out.

“Have… have you ever tried sweets?” Beverly asked It, speaking tentatively. They were the first words she had spoken to It since their gathering in the lounge room. With the horrors of what It had inflicted on her as a child fresh in her mind, she seemed to be struggling to accommodate Its presence. Being dragged into the Deadlight had been a far more traumatic and damaging experience than anything anyone else had faced at the hands of It, and Bill could tell that remembering it after all these years was eroding at her composure.

It didn’t look up as It answered. “No.”

“But you’re a clown,” she said.

“That is one of many forms I take.” Having finished with Richie’s napkin, It started on a fresh one. “I have only eaten meat, and I only wish to eat meat.”

“You should at least try the fried ice cream they have here,” said Richie, rising from his seat. He was already digging out his wallet. “And if you don’t like it, I’ll eat it.”

“Get some for me too,” said Bill. He would never pass on the opportunity for fried ice cream.

“I’ll get some for everyone.” Richie withdrew a fifty from his alligator skin wallet and closed it, sliding it back into his pocket. “Two lots for me. Three, if clown boy doesn’t eat theirs.”

“How can you fit in two lots of ice cream?” asked Eddie with a scoff. “You just finished an entire plate of chicken teriyaki!”

“You’d be surprised what I can fit in when I want to, Eds.”

“Don’t call me Eds.”

“Sure thing, Eds,” and with that, Richie left the table to organize their desserts.

Bill tried to discreetly remove the remaining napkins from Its reach only to have his hand slapped away. It proceeded to tear into two of them with increased savagery. Bill sighed and tried to take comfort in the fact that no one (who wasn’t part of his immediate social circle, anyway) was around to witness Its puerile display. He wasn’t sure why It was doing it; was It nervous? Angry? Bored? Was It looking for an excuse not to talk to the others? Maybe it was all those things. He hadn’t the faintest idea, and he suspected It wouldn’t tell him if he asked.

Richie returned to their table carrying their desserts. He sat down with two bowls, while everyone else received one. Bill didn’t eat his straight away. He shifted in his seat to watch Pennywise pick at one of the crumbling fried balls with the sort of leeriness one might expect from a child given broccoli. It brought it to Its nose, gave it a sniff, and then placed it on its tongue and began to chew. As it did, Its brow knitted and Its pale lips pressed into a thin line. It swallowed.

It became apparent that It liked the ice cream when It pushed the remaining balls into its mouth and reached for Richie’s second bowl. Richie made no effort to stop It, merely casting It a dirty look while It ate.

“That was mine,” Richie sulked, nibbling his own fried ice cream.

Bill tried not to sound amused when he spoke. “Sorry, Richie. You can always get some m-more before we leave.”

“It’s the principle of the thing.” He planted his chin on a palm, mouth turned into a deep frown. “Honestly, who _raised_ you?”

“No one,” It said, mouth full of ice cream.

“ _Obviously_. That was rhetorical,” said Richie with a scowl. “You didn’t even use your cutlery despite staring at them for like, fifteen minutes.”

“Would you like me to use it now?”

“You don’t need cutlery for ice cream,” said Richie.

It swallowed Its mouthful of dessert, plucked Its knife off the tablecloth, and proceeded to take a bite out of its handle, crunching noisily on the metal. Richie stared at It in shock. The whole table followed suit, raising their eyes to watch as It swallowed the ravaged metal and tossed the remnants aside.

“What the fuck,” whispered Richie, stuck dumb by the display. “That’s not how you use a knife.”

“I know,” It said, laughing so loud that Bill almost had to cover his ears. “I just thought it would be _funny_ , and it _was_.”

Mike ran a palm over his face and groaned. “We’re getting take-away next time.”

They returned to the hotel after lunch and spent what little was left of the day attempting to play monopoly. It had initially refused to play, standing in the corner and observing their game, but on their third round It finally joined in as the Top Hat and thoroughly trounced them all. When Richie accused It of cheating, It had a balloon full of monopoly money burst over Richie’s head, and that was when they decided it was time to wind down with soda and Netflix.

Naturally, It followed Bill back to his room and sat down in the corner while he caught up on the latest episodes of Game of Thrones. It was watching, too, but only periodically, and it dozed off whenever Bill was too engrossed in an episode to engage it in conversation (which consisted of It displaying a surprisingly vast knowledge of Game of Thrones). Considering It slept for twenty to thirty years at a time, it wasn’t surprising that It like to sleep during the day. Bill himself dozed off around midnight with the television still rolling through episodes. He had a plate of half-eaten chicken strips with rice sitting beside him, which It ate while he slumbered. It left the rice untouched.

Bill woke up to It dragging him out of bed and divesting him of his clothes. Back in its clown form, It carried him easily into the bathroom and pressed his dazed and shivering form into a warm spray of water, then stood beneath the spray Itself despite being fully clothed. When it stroked his cock into hardness, that brought an abrupt end to his lethargy. There was nothing quite like a mind-blowing orgasm to wake one up in the morning.

His whole body tingled pleasantly as they made their way downstairs for breakfast. It demolished a plate full of bacon while the rest of them contented themselves with toast, beans, eggs, and tiny breakfast sausages. No one complained about Its appetite. Better a plate of bacon than children, after all.

Even with It there to keep them on their guard, the day was uneventful. They explored their old haunts, reminisced, had lunch in the park, then return to their hotel for dinner. It picked apart three more napkins while waiting for their meals to arrive (much to Bill’s chagrin). Mike attempted a discussion on what they would do should It prove untrustworthy, but no matter how many pointed looks Bill cast It, It wouldn’t leave the room, so that tapered off fast.

The second day was much like the first, unfolding slowly and uneventfully and smothered in a nervous energy. Very rarely were he and It left alone. The Losers were understandably reluctant to entrust Bill’s safety to the creature that had once hunted and haunted them as children.

Much of the day was spent playing card games and eating takeout in the lounge room, which they occupied so often now that the other patrons had given up on trying to secure it for themselves. Beverly managed to win two hundred and fifty dollars in a poker match against Bill, Ben, and Mike, and when Richie challenged her to a game of strip poker to ‘avenge their broken spirits’, he ended up sitting in nothing buts his boxers and socks. Unsurprisingly, both his boxers and socks had SpongeBob on them, which he claimed to be one of the greatest comedians of their time.

It didn’t participate in any of their games, occupying Itself with picking through the contents of a nearby bookshelf. While It didn’t read anything, It did examine the blurbs on the back before returning the books to their original position. Bill had to wonder if It had ever indulged in a good book.

Only on the third dad did the Losers stop going stiff every time It made an appearance. It was reticent, content to watch from the sidelines, but their curiosity and their desire to gauge its intentions prompted the Losers to tentatively invite it into conversation. Thus far they had learned that it had a brother, the Turtle, whom it loathed for its indolence and weakness, and that it did in fact know swear words and would use them any time the Turtle came up in conversation. It also, funnily enough, enjoyed Ripley’s Believe it or Not despite it being the product of a human. It found the oddities, particularly those inflicted on humans, to be very amusing. Its favourite story featured an inept criminal by the name of ‘Big Nose George’ being hanged and having his skin turned into a pair of shoes. Hearing It regale that story with such relish and enthusiasm had been a little disquieting for the Losers.

Now that they were all certain It had no intention of killing or harming them while they were vulnerable, the Losers were eager to indulge in a night of drinking. Well, _some_ of them were; Bill, Richie and Ben had every intention of getting blitzed, but Beverly, Eddie and Mike had decided to go karaoking instead.

They set themselves up at a quiet bar around nine thirty. It was around this time that the stalls started filling in. It had decided to accompany them on their tour of Derry’s liquor stock, but It situated itself in the corner of the car, quietly observing them while they worked their way through a menu consisting of eighteen different cocktails. They were starting slow, with Fluffy Ducks, and working their way up to something called a Zombie.

Richie was first to start slurring, having consumed five different cocktails in one hour. “Hey,” he called over to It, who raised Its head in acknowledgement. “C’movahere. Have a grasshopper. You look all sad in that corner.”

Bill’s eyebrows shot up when It obliged Richie’s request, crossing the room and downing the contents of Richie’s glass in one gulp, swallowing the toothpick and olive in the process. Usually It ignored any requests Richie made of it, even when they were as small as ‘move over, you’re stepping on my foot’.

“Wow, shit.” Richie waved to the bartender, who ambled over with a dripping cloth clutched in his red-knuckled hand. “Give my fuh-friend here the strongest thing you’ve got. I wanna see if It… he… can get drunk.”

“Pretty sh-s-shure It can’t,” slurred Bill. “Think Its stomach is an endless pit. Doesn’t need to shit or anything.” At those words, the bartender shot him a bewildered look. He offered a sloppy smile in response.

“You won’t find out if you don’t try,” said Ben, who was handling his alcohol significantly better than either he or Richie. “Come on,” he continued, gesturing for It to come closer. “Have some drinks.”

It selected the stool closest to Bill and sat down, swallowing everything they handed to It without comment. The strength of the alcohol didn’t seem to bother it one iota. It might as well have been drinking water for all the reaction It gave.

“Holy fu-fuck,” said Richie after Its third Zombie. “Lookit that, it’s downing them like a champ. We shu-should get It a whole bottle of gin or somethin’.”

“Maybe It could swallow the whole bottle,” slurred Ben with audible awe.

“Oh my god,” said Bill. “I wanna see that.”

“We could record it,” slurred Richie. “Get like, a mil views on youtube.”

“Thash dumb,” said Ben, slapping Richie’s hand away from his pocket before he could retrieve his phone.

“We can’t let people know Ish an alien,” said Bill in what he believed was a whisper, but was in fact much louder. “It’ll get all E.T. up in here.”

“E.T. was a good guy,” pointed out Richie.

“Yeah well.” Bill shrugged. “Still, can’t let ‘em… E.T. him, or whatever. The kid gesh caught too, and we’re the kid.”

“Ooh, yeah,” said Ben in agreement.

They decided it would be best, and less expensive, if they ambled their way over to a nearby liquor store and bought a couple of bottles of bourbon, tonic water, and gin. They were slurring so badly by this point that It ended up having to submit the order for them.

On their way back to the hotel, Richie managed to trip into a gutter and smash the bottle of gin he’d been allocated. It was only one of five, but It ended up carrying all their bags anyway, holding them to Its chest with an expression of resignation. One bottle of gin was a minor loss, but Richie managed to sulk about it all the way back to the hotel anyway.

Once they were situated in the lounge, It demonstrated that It could in fact swallow a bottle of gin whole. Richie clapped his hands like a seal and Bill whooped.

As It continued to drink, Bill couldn’t help but notice the slight wobble in Its posture. It started to smile more, blink more, and sway from side to side, and when It spoke to ask how much longer they would be drinking, there was a hint of a slur in Its voice.

“I think it can actually get drunk!” Bill crowed, ignoring Its question completely. “It’s slu-slu-slurring!”

Ben slapped his knee. “Told ya it could!”

Richie piqued in with a, “No you didn’t! That was me,” then spilt half his glass of bourbon into his lap. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “These were the only non-shorts I brought with me, too.”

“D’you got some napkins?” Bill asked It. It seemed only natural that It would have hoarded a few considering how infatuated It appeared to be with them.

“No,” It said, to Bill’s great disappointment.

“Damn.” Bill set down his glass and groped around the coffee table for tissues. He was sure there’d been a box there earlier. Had the table not been spinning in a slow circle, he might’ve actually been able to find it.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Bill.” Richie flapped a hand at him, then winked. “You could always _suck_ it dry.”

“No, he couldn’t,” It said, and Its voice was cold and devoid of Its earlier jubilation. The smile on Richie’s mouth dropped away.

“Er, y-yeah. Heh.” Even drunk, it appeared Richie had a self-preservation instinct. “Just kidding.”

“Better be careful ‘bout what you say, trashmouth,” slurred Bill with a giggle. Not the manliest of sounds, perhaps, but they’d be too drunk to remember it, anyway. “He’s a pa-p-aso…ses…sive one, like a bear.”

“Gots teeth like a bear, too,” said Ben, though that was not the case, currently. Its glamor had a set of straight, white, _human_ teeth. They were a little too perfect, if you asked Bill. No one should have a smile _that_ stunning. He wasn’t about to ask It to change them, though; he rather liked kissing men with nice teeth. Nice teeth meant good hygiene. Granted, he didn’t think It had so much as touched a toothbrush in all Its time on earth.

“What’s it like fucking It, anyway?” asked Richie loudly. He seemed to have already forgotten Its anger.

“ _Wow_ ,” breathed Bill. “Don’t got no s-shame, do you?”

“’Course he doesn’t,” said Ben, snickering. “That’s why he’s Trashmouth Tozier!”

“Thatsh right!” exclaimed Richie, as though the title ‘trashmouth’ was a great honour. “So, y’gonna answer my question or be a prude?”

Bill looked at It, whose mouth was pinched in disapproval, and shrugged. The visual disapproval did more to encourage him than discourage him. He was very stubborn, after all, and the alcohol had lowered his inhibitions to the point where he didn’t particularly mind divulging the unvirtuous details of their sex life.

“It doesn’t have a dick,” he told them, and Richie and Ben watched him speak in rapt attention. “Ish like, tentacles down there. Really _good_ tentacles.”

“Flattering,” It said and took Bill’s glass from the coffee table, swallowing the contents.

“They are,” said Bill, turning to It. “They’re _so_ good. How… how’d ya _do_ that?”

“Do what?” It asked.

“S’just make it… so good. It’s like you drag heaven down to meet me.”

“Whao,” murmured Ben. “That kinda makes _me_ want clown dick.”

“I just told you it _didn’t_ have a dick. Ish got weird tentacles or something.”

“What’ya call it, then?” asked Richie, a little green beneath the eyes. He probably wasn’t going to last much longer. The toilet would be calling soon. “Octopenis?” He broke into laughter at his own joke. “Oc-octo- heh!”

“Tentadick?” offered Ben.

“Cock-to-pus,” suggested Richie between snorts of laughter.

“I just th-think of it as ‘Its tentacles’, honestly,” said Bill. “And ‘slimy’.”

It regarded them dryly. “Little Buddy, don’t you think it’s about time you slept?”

“Whash the time?” he asked, hitching up the sleeve of his shirt before realizing he wasn’t wearing a watch. He’d taken it off before going out. It had cost him well over a thousand dollars and he hadn’t wanted to risk damaging it.

“Late,” was Its answer, and that was all the warning It gave before it plucked Bill from the cushions and slung him over Its shoulder. Its arm curved around his waist, hand flat on his ass. That had to be deliberate.

“Guess daddy’s gotta take you to bed,” teased Richie. “Nighty night, lil Billy. The adults have some more drinking to do.”

Bill scowled. “Yeah, well, you’re just gonna piss yourself on the floor of your bathroom, while I’m getting a blowjob!”

“I don’t recall planning on that,” It said.

Bill made a whining sound that was unbecoming of a man his age, but he hadn’t the mental faculties to recognize that.

At the door, It paused and looked back at Richie, and said, “I’m going to introduce him to realms of pleasure you could only dream of,” and then proceeded into the lobby. Bill was growing excited by the prospect of being ‘introduced to realms of pleasure Richie could only dream of’ by the time they reached his room. He didn’t even mind when It dropped him unceremoniously onto the mattress and crawled on top of him. Now that they were alone, It had returned to Its clown form and sat as a significant, looming weight upon his hips.

Bill leaned up to kiss It and It met him half way, licking open his lips and gripping him by the back of his hair, tasting his tongue and palate and driving a chill into the fine nerves there. It tore some sobriety into him when It groped at him, Its fingers dragging down his sides, exploring the hollows of his ribcage. He could taste the gin Itd just been drinking on Its impossibly long, slick tongue. The prominent jut of Its hips ground into his parted thighs.

Though It held Its liquor remarkably well, It was becoming apparent as It slithered down Bill’s body in increasingly uncoordinated movements that the alcohol was affecting It far more than It let on. When It smiled at Bill, It was warm and sloppy rather than utterly terrifying, even with those pointy teeth. He felt compelled to smile back.

It proceeded to suck his cock until he was a wailing mess (which anyone sleeping in adjacent rooms would have undoubtedly heard) and then lay down at his side, their bodies tucked together with Bill’s pants still wrapped around his thighs. He couldn’t be bothered pulling them back up.

Come morning, he remembered their night in flittering stills and distinctly recalled the phrase ‘tentadick’, and he didn’t need to know the context to realize he’d gone blabbing about his and Its private affairs. He hoped desperately some of the finer details of whatever boorish things he’d said had been forgotten by his friends.

This hope turned out to be in vain as a very tired, red-eyed Richie said, “How was the tentadick?” when they entered the hotel restaurant for a late breakfast. Thankfully, they were the sole people at the table.

“If you tell anyone…”

“You insult me, Bill!” said Richie, scoffing and jutting up his chin. “What do you think I am? The sort of twit that’d go around blabbing about my sexual escapades after a few drinks?”

“Beep beep, Trashmouth,” said Bill sulkily. He threw a handful of breakfast sausages at Richie, much too hung-over to care about the juvenility of his assault.

* * *

Since they were stuck in Derry for the time being with little purpose beyond ‘keep an eye on It’, they decided to spend one of the lovely sunny days they’d been blessed with swimming in the lake that fringed the outskirts of the barrens. It was clean and fresh despite its proximity to filth. They stripped down to their underthing’s and made leaping jumps into the water, wooping and laughing and acting rather like a group of rowdy kids. They were lost in the memory of their youth, together once again, and for the moment they were free of the tyranny of It – or rather the memory of Its tyranny – and were instead guiding It into their games like a welcome stranger. The simple pleasure of being united in play had them dropping their guard, for the moment.

It didn’t appear to know what to do with Itself; It had obviously never indulged in any sort of play that didn’t involve the suffering of another. After some time of observing them, however, It started to participate in the only way It knew how: by dropping into the water and surfacing so close to them that it drew shrieks of fright and delight. By the end of the first hour, Bill had taught It the theme song to Jaws, which It promptly used to terrify Richie into scrambling out the water and onto dry land (It certainly helped that It had spontaneously grown a fin on Its back).

They lay sprawled over the rocks to dry once they’d had their fill of swimming. They talked idly about their lives; family, work, friends, and the various frivolities they enjoyed. All very normal, human things that Bill watched It listen to with an oddly pinched expression. It probably failed to see the appeal in maintaining the things the Losers spoke of, much less talking about them like they were worthy of mention. But It shifted a few times, inclined Its head, and Bill thought perhaps It might be curious, too, because It had never had reason to listen to humans talk about their daily lives before. Perhaps, with enough time, it would recognize worth in humanity beyond that of food. 

There was still suspicion in Bill that this was a ruse. He feared that he would awaken one day to the glazed eyes of his friends, dead through his own foolish hope that It could ever be made to stop, but seeing the way It played with them and looked at them now, with just a hint of curiosity, a philistine being exposed to a world it had only ever viewed through a distorted lens, it fostered a ridiculous hope that this arrangement could _work_.

It was only as he sat on one of the sun-warmed rocks surrounding the lake that Bill decided he truly wanted to give this a go. He owed it to the citizens of Derry to try. If it didn’t work, he was prepared to die and bring It down with him, if only for a short while.

Mike, ever the planner, had had the forethought to bring a picnic basket full of sandwiches, soda, and nibbles so they wouldn’t have to leave the lake when lunch rolled around. It chewed on three ham sandwiches very slowly, perhaps trying to decide if It liked the combination of meat and salad enough to eat any more than what would briefly satiate It. As It didn’t raze through the rest of the contents of the basket, Bill had to assume It didn’t enjoy them as much as It had the fried ice cream and sea food platter. Bill himself ate two egg sandwiches and half a chicken with salad, then resumed languishing on his rock with a can of cola.

Though they were alone, Its glamor remained on. As It was still wearing the damn tuxedo, It wasn’t much less conspicuous than it would have been in a different form. 

Bill made room on the rock when It indicated It wanted to sit next to him. It did so stiffly, form rigid, until Bill pulled It down and made it lie like a normal person would. It started to relax only when Bill stroked the nape of Its neck.

“Strange, being here,” It mumbled. It’d likely been some time since It had interacted with humans as anything but a boogieman. “Strange,” It continued to mumble.

“It’s a nice day. Don’t you like it?”

It paused. “There have been many days like this in my existence.”

“Didn’t talk about that,” said Bill, speaking casually. “I just wanted to know if you liked it.”

It grunted, which Bill took as a tentative ‘yes’.

“What’s, uh…” Bill paused as he searched for the right word. “What’s it like to be mated? For you, I mean. I obviously know how _I_ feel about it.” Which was a torrent of conflicting emotions he tried not to acknowledge for more than a few minutes at a time. He feared they would drown him if he considered them for any longer than that.

“ _Deeply_ satisfying,” It answered, Its voice soft and guttural. “You cannot imagine the _extent_ of it.” The way It spoke, Bill had no doubt that what It experienced was unfathomable to the human mind.

“If it’s such a great feeling, how come you didn’t do It sooner, then?” he asked.

“I was content. No need for mating. No need for others.”

“But still… unfathomable satisfaction?” He extended his hands in a flutter. “How do you resist something like that?”

“By having no suitable suitors.”

“There’s billions of people to choose from- you could have grabbed any one of them and had the same thing you have with me.”

“No, I could not have,” It said simply. “Because they are not you, Little Buddy.”

That was _heartening_ to hear. He didn’t want it to be. He’d spent every day after being ‘mated’ to It thinking of their union as a necessary burden, but now there was a stupid squirming gratification juxtaposed to the loathing he felt at being deprived of the ability to choose his own lover.

“You are a remarkable man,” It added, and the squirming inside Bill grew fevered. It responded to his delight with even more compliments. “Smart and talented… I could never let you go, Little Buddy, even if I wanted to.” It seemed to locate something within Bill’s mind, and in a murmur It added, “You should be proud of you accomplishments.”

“S-stop being dumb,” he said back.

It nosed into his neck. “Mmm, but you are indeed remarkable.”

Bill had to bite his lip to stop himself from breaking into a grin.

It was stupid to get so worked up over a few words, but it had been a long time since Bill had received this kind of approval. He’d neither sought nor asked for it throughout his life. He hadn’t received any following Georgie’s death, so he’d learned to live without it, to be content with self-approval. He’d learned not to care.

But he did care. He hadn’t realised it, but oh, he did. He’d wanted his parents to love him again, to want him, to approve of him more than anything in the whole world, and now It was saying the things he’d desperately wanted to hear from their mouths. There was no chance of that ever happening, however; his father had died from a lung carcinoma when Bill had been seventeen and his mother had passed a few years back in a nursing home. Bill hadn’t exchanged a word with her in well over a decade. He’d cried a lot that day, aggrieved and angry, full of loathing for himself and for a mother that had abandoned her living son to wallow in grief. It’d been hard to lose Georgie; he’d always understood that and felt it just as painfully as they did, but he had been a child, and he had desperately needed his parents to gather their bearings and crawl into the deep cold that permeated the space Georgie had occupied and remind Bill that the world wasn’t ending, even if it felt like it every time he passed Georgie’s room.

“Little Buddy?”

He hadn’t realised how quiet he’d gone. The happiness It had produced had been leeched from him by the memory of his parents. He was sure they had gone to their graves blaming him for Georgie’s death. He was sure of that, because why else would they have neglected him the way they did? Why else would they have shown him none of the love and approval he’d desperately needed if not because they loathed him for leading Georgie to the gutter that took his life?

His eyes had turned glassy. He wasn’t happy anymore. He wasn’t enjoying the sun.

That was one way to end a war going on in your head, he supposed. Just think of something sadder than being betrothed to an alien.

“Little Buddy?” It said again.

“I’m okay,” he whispered, wiping his face on his forearms, hiding it from view. “I’m o-okay, just…” He took an unsteady breath. “Thinking about things I haven’t thought about in a long time.”

It turned away from Bill. “Stop thinking about them, then.”

Bill laughed wetly. “I wish it was that easy.” He rubbed a thumb over his damp eyelashes. “I just…” he hesitated. “I wonder what my parents would have thought, if they’d known about all of this.”

“Their minds would have fractured further than they had already.”

“Sounds about right,” mumbled Bill. He’d been hoping the answer would be something more uplifting. “Guess nothing would have brought them around.”

“You humans and your survivor guilt,” It muttered to him suddenly, and Bill didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing at all. “You didn’t kill your brother,” It clarified. “I did.” Bill’s blood cooled and he had to stand and move away, stumbling across the grass to sit among the brush, his shoulders quivering.

It didn’t follow him. It sat on the rock and stared at him, still and unblinking.

The Losers ate some more sandwiches, drank some more soda, and pulled on their clothes. Bill walked quietly behind them as they vacated the river.

His mood only started to improve when they took a detour into the old arcade Richie had frequented as a child. He watched Richie play through a couple of rounds of Streetfighter, then beat Eddie in two games of air hockey. Beverly insisted on playing him next, but he’d wanted to try something else by then, so he handed her over to Eddie.

It had been attached to him at the hip these past few days, but It made no attempt to approach him now. Eventually, Bill decided to take the initiative, sidling into its corner to mutter, “I know I didn’t.”

“ _I_ did it,” It replied, picking up the conversation where they’d left off as though seconds rather than hours had passed in the interim. “I alone.”

He was oddly numb rather than something more reasonable, like angry or indignant; It had, after all, been the one to kill his brother and deprive him of his parents’ love, and now It was trying to assuage his guilt by mentioning that fact. But he also knew It was trying – _actually tryin_ g to help him, and It was hard to fault It for that, even if it did it in a way that wasn’t particularly tactful. It probably just didn’t want Bill moping around, but even _that_ was better than It reaping satisfaction from his misery.

“Okay,” he said, and sighed, and sat down heavily in a chair. Getting this to work was going to be hard. “Maybe you should start with ‘I’m sorry’ in the future,” he said, exercising incredible patience. “I might be less upset, that way.”

“Mm, I am not sorry for his death,” It said, and Bill’s jowls clenched. “I am sorry it harmed my mate.”

“God,” Bill whispered. ‘Hard’ had been an understatement. “That’ll work for a start, I guess.”

* * *

The remaining three days passed much like the previous four. It was docile to the very end of their arrangement, a wolf among sheep that did little more than snuff its maw of jagged teeth and nudge them with its snout on the odd occasion. It exhibited no desire to harm them, even though it was clear It was tolerating the other Losers for Bill’s sake and spent as much time as possible attached to Bill’s side. This whole ‘mating’ thing really was important to It.

When Eddie said, ‘We need at least another week to decide’, It put up only a token protest before giving in. Now that Itd had a taste of human living, it must not have seemed as treacherous as it had a week prior. It probably helped that Bill had been introducing it to different flavours of ice cream when they had nothing else to do except entertain themselves by watching It eat entire containers of the stuff in one sitting.

They had, wisely, not let It drink again, and nor had they had much alcohol themselves. Bill was particularly careful not to get drunk enough to make announcements about his sex life again. Which was amazing, by the way; It had discovered all the little things that would wring explosive orgasms out of Bill and took advantage of them liberally.

They didn’t manage to get through the entirety of the second week before Eddie was due home. His wife had made several frantic phone calls and he simply couldn’t ignore them any longer. He gave them all long, tearful hugs and took the next flight back to New York. Ben followed shortly after, but promised he would drop in once he’d finished his work obligations. The remaining Losers – Richie, Mike, and Beverly – were set to return to their lives by the end of the week, but they made sure Bill would be able to contact them should anything go awry with his arrangement with It. It may have proven Itself docile, to a degree, but they would _never_ trust it wholly. They would be ready to pounce should It so much as look at Bill in the wrong way.

Eleven days into Its excursion aboveground, It ceased casting longing glances at the gutter. A day after that, It told Bill it would be willing to remain above for longer, if he needed more time to commit entirely to being Its mate. Bill spent a while trying to gauge just how much time he could get out of It, and when he wasn’t able to come to a sure answer, he decided he would try a whole month and see how much of it Pennywise managed.

On the final day of their second week, Ben had returned for a visit. When he left, he took Beverly with him, and Richie decided after this that it was high time he left too. His talk show would be starting a new season soon and he was getting a little tired of his producer and writers sending pleading messages for his return through every method of communication possible. He had seventy unread texts on his phone.

“But I’m only one call away,” he promised Bill, squeezing him so tight that Bill struggled for breath. He gave Bill a kiss before leaving, much to Its dismay, and waved at them as he slid into a waiting cab.

“I don’t like him,” It groused.

“You don’t like anyone,” said Bill wryly.

“Except you.”

Bill looked up at It, surprised. Such a thing should have been obvious, given how much time they’d spent together, how much sex they’d had, and how often It complimented him, but it honestly hadn’t occurred to him that It liked him for his personality.

“Uh, thanks.” They walked side by side down the footpath. “You’re alright company too,” he added. Fantastic company, in fact. It turned out It had a lot of interesting things to say when It wasn’t trying to kill you. Bill particularly enjoyed the little hints It gave about a world beyond this one that was cold and black and endless. It gave him ideas for his books.

He looked over his shoulder to watch the cab pull out of the gutter and into the street. The Losers had been disbanded once again.

“When I go into the sewer,” Bill said slowly, because It hadn’t touched a child in two weeks and he was beginning to believe It never would again, and of course Bill would uphold _his_ end of the bargain. “Where will I sleep?”

It was quiet for a long moment. “What do you think of the sewer?”

“It’s cold, miserable, and smells like shit,” he answered immediately. “Why?”

It made a thoughtful sound. “Thinking.”

“About?”

“Thinking,” It said in a low sibilant and offered nothing more.

“Well, thanks for being so forthright,” said Bill, rolling his eyes. It shot him a hard look. They were more effective in Its ‘Robert Gray’ form due to the absence of the painted smile.

They returned to Mike’s house instead of the hotel, where Mike had permitted them to stay for as long as they needed. It indulged him in watching a few re-runs of Cake Wars and then insisted Bill start on dinner, which was to be two pork roasts with the usual trimmings; one for It and one for himself and Mike. When Mike returned, they ate together at the table, almost like a family. Mike told them about the day he’d had and Bill commiserated with him on the lonely hours he’d spent returning books to shelves. Bill knew what working on ones lonesome for long periods felt like.

The days passed slowly and with little of note occurring. It didn’t ask about the sewer again, and nor did It ask when It would be permitted to return. Bill was starting to think they might just make it to the end of the month after all. If they did, he thought about trying for another month, and if that worked out well, an additional one on top of that. Every moment he spent above ground was precious. He wanted to savour the life he had in the sun before he relinquished it for the good of Derry.

He went on a lot of walks in his free time, soaking up the scenery of his youth. It always accompanied him. It wasn’t at all impressed even when they went on scenic treks through the barrens, casting disinterested looks at the surrounding wildlife. It did appear at least a little more engaged when they came upon a nest of foxes, however. It knew little of the life on earth beyond humans, so It stared curiously when Bill pressed It back into the bushes to watch a couple of cubs play before the entrance to their hovel.

Seeing this, Bill tried to convince It to accompany him to a zoo a little ways out of Derry. It staunchly refused. There wasn’t a great deal Bill could do when It made up Its mind about something, so he got It hooked on National Geographic instead. It particularly enjoyed documentaries about the various carnivorous beasts inhabiting earth.

They explored every inch of Derry, often multiple times as there was only so much ground they could cover before their tracks started to overlap. They must have visited every park six times before Bill was satisfied that he had seen all there was to see in them. Mike would often accompany them, provided he had the time off work, and seemed to be enjoying Its company despite his initial reservations. There were things they spoke about that Bill didn’t understand, things that Mike had learned through twenty-seven years of subjecting himself to mind-altering drugs.

When they neared the end of the month, he started to look at apartments he could rent for a short period so to not impose on Mike for any longer than necessary. Mike refused whenever he tried to pay rent and he knew Mike couldn’t sustain their current financial situation for much longer. Supporting an additional person on as low a paying job as ‘librarian’ just wasn’t feasible. He only looked at places that weren’t seeking yearlong contracts, however, as he knew It would want to return to the sewer eventually.

It took a lot of convincing and pleading kisses for Bill to finally get It out of Derry. The most he persuaded It to do was accompany him on a trip to Fields Pond Audubon Center, a place a little over fifteen minutes outside of Derry, and then somehow talk It into getting into a canoe to tour the 85-acres of water.

The sun shone over the gently undulating waters. It was a lovely, vivid blue and Bill could see fish cutting through the water if he watched the shimmering surface for long enough. The forest flanking them was thick and lush and green. There were a few birds flittering in and out of the trees, several of which Bill had never seen before.

It was peaceful and beautiful. Bill was glad to have brought It here.

“I really don’t know why you choose to live in a sewer,” said Bill, releasing the oars to retrieve his soup canister from his bag. It was the only kind of container you were permitted to take on treks. The wildlife preserve was strict about potential litter. “There’s a whole world with places just like this, and you choose the place our _faeces_ go.”

It looked uncomfortably at the trees. It had been on edge since they’d crossed the outskirts. “I am undisturbed there.”

“You’d be undisturbed here,” pointed out Bill, taking a sip of water from his soup canister. “If you built a cabin far enough in the woods, anyway. Might get the occasional bear, but most treks don’t go that far into the woods. Too much of a risk of getting lost.”

“It was convenient, situating myself in Derry,” It said. “It was my own abattoir whenever I surfaced.”

Bill swallowed. “That’s over now… right?” He waited until he saw It give a jerky nod before he continued. “Maybe you should consider living somewhere else.”

“Trying to secure somewhere more comfortable for yourself, are you?” It asked.

Bill gave a nervous titter. “Well, yeah… I don’t exactly relish the idea of living knee-deep in shit for the rest of my days. I might just kill myself out of disgust.”

It winced when Bill said that.

“I’m kidding,” he said, throwing up a hand.

“Were you?” It asked, Its voice level, Its eyes penetrating as It gazed at him.

“I won’t kill myself,” he promised. “I know you’d go back to your old ways if I did, and I’m not that selfish.”

It pursed Its lips, then said, “It would be difficult to do that, now.”

“What?” Bill grinned. “Are you getting used to the comforts of human life?”

“No.”

Bill’s grin faltered. “I really wish you would _elaborate_ more when I make it obvious I’m interested.”

There was a long pause before It replied. Its glamour had dropped somewhat and Bill could see the arcane orange of Its eyes. “The deeper depths of the sewer system only remained intact while I was in Derry.”

Bill went over those words a few times in his head before he replied. “I don’t understand,” he said, which wasn’t entirely true. He just thought he was interpreting the comment wrong, because surely It wouldn’t have sacrificed Its home for him.

“I crossed the border of Derry,” It said, squinting up at the sun. “My intricate system of tunnels is gone, Little Buddy. Crushed and gone.”

Bill stared, uncomprehending. “Can you rebuild them?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. It would take some time, but a being like Me is capable.” It cupped Its hands in Its lap, smiling. “But I won’t.”

“But- but that’s your home.”

“It wasn’t yours.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Bill asked, bewildered. He ran his hands up through his hair, growing anxious.

“I,” It placed a palm on Its breast. “Made a concession for you.”

“I don’t – I don’t understand –“

“Aren’t you happy?” It asked, frowning. “You should be happy. I let my home disintegrate for you.”

“But why would you do that?” he asked, tone shrill in his confusion.

“We’re mated.”

“But you only mated with me to avoid a fight!” he cried, throwing out his hands. His soup canister went rolling across the floor of the canoe. “You didn’t do it because you _loved_ me; you agreed to this to save your own hide!”

“I would not mate with one with whom I held no affection.”

“But- but-“ Bill was spluttering. “ _Affection_? I tried to _kill_ you! I almost succeeded!”

“Ergo, you were the only one suitable for a mateship.”

Bill’s hands shook minutely. He shoved them into his lap. “Did you ever intend to kill us?”

“Of course I did,” It said. “And I would have, but I knew the moment the Other joined your side that I would not win.” It was still peering up at the sun, like It couldn’t stand to look at Bill’s face. Perhaps it was afraid of what It would see there: horror, anger, _rejection_. “And now…”

“Now?”

It licked Its pale lips. “The Other laid a plan, I fell into it, blind to its machinations.”

“And what…” Bill took an unsteady breath. “What does that mean for us?”

“It means I do not wish to see you die.”

“Well, that’s good, since I have no plans to die anytime soon,” said Bill, a heavy weight in his chest. He wetted his lips. “W-where are you going to live, if not the sewer?”

“Where do you wish to live?”

Bill paused. “A house, or an apartment,” he said.

“Then that is where we will live.”

Bill scraped his fingers over his ribcage, behind which his heart was fluttering. He was uncertain about what this was leading up to and how he would feel when it finally reached its culmination. He was scared to press on, but he did it, anyway, because he had no choice. “It’s not supposed to be like this,” he whispered. “I’m supposed to be doing this out of obligation.”

Its eyes finally settled back on Bill’s face, full of warmth. “I could make you happy. I could give you anything you ever wanted.”

Bill shook his head. “I don’t- why would I care about that? Any of that?”

“You don’t have to accept it. You have a choice.”

“No I don’t,” he said, sniffing. “I _have_ to do this. I have to do it for Derry.”

“You don’t,” It said firmly. “Little Buddy – _Bill_ , you have a choice. I’m giving you one.” It shifted closer, Its large hands closing over Bill’s knobbly knees. Its glamour had dropped even further and it was white-gloved fingers sliding smoothly over the denim of his jeans. “In either case, the residents of Derry will not be harmed. I couldn’t go back to how things were after getting a taste of you.” Its thumbs stroked circles into his knees. “If you leave, I won’t follow.”

Bill’s form trembled, the straight line of his shoulders jumping in distress. “You- you won’t hurt anyone?” he asked, choking on his words.

“I won’t,” It promised. “And you would lay down your life even if I were to try, so why would I?” A beat of silence. The fingers on his knees were cool and soothing. “What do you want to do, Little Buddy?”

He drew his gaze up to meet Its bright orange eyes. This creature had killed his brother, driven away his parents, slaughtered countless children – and now It was bowing to him in a demonstration of love, going against Its very nature to give him a choice he had desperately wanted since this whole thing had begun. It would have been so easy to leave, to go to Richie or Mike or any of the others and set up a new life, a normal life… but he had already started to forge something here, with It, and despite the fact all of this had been born of obligation, Bill had been happier and more content with It than he had ever been otherwise.

It had been part of his life since he had been eleven, regardless of his ignorance; It had shaped him, his personality, his interests, his fears and friendships and enemies, and in some strange way, it felt only natural to accept It as an even more permanent fixture in his life.

He closed his hands over Its, and said, “We’ll make this work.”


End file.
